Alternate Ending to The Crucible by Arthur Miller
by Twist
Summary: The Crucible Pretty much what the title says. Not meant to be at all serious or offensive. Relax, have fun, peace out. :


Alternate . . . uh . . . storyline, I guess, to "The Crucible"  
  
By: Twist  
  
Summary: Abigail and the other girls get what they had coming.  
  
Author's Note: Was bored in English. Had this idea. Wrote it out. This is not meant to be serious in any way, shape or form. Just try to relax and have fun.  
  
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing!  
  
*  
  
Abigail Williams beamed quite nastily at the girls congregated around her. The younger ones shifted nervously on their seats in the otherwise empty courthouse.  
  
"It is done," Abigail proclaimed happily. "Girls, we have done it."  
  
"Done what, Abby?" Mercy Lewis sneered. "Made the town a living Hell for everyone but us?"  
  
"No," Abigail said. Excitement glowed from her face. "We can marry any lad we choose now, girls. We are viewed in such high esteem." Her grin was turning nastier by the minute. "Should anyone cross us, we can just accuse them of being a witch."  
  
"Reverend Hale suspects us," Mary Warren said timidly. "Perhaps we'd best stop now."  
  
"Hah!" Abigail barked out a deranged laugh. "And why not accuse Reverend Hale? God knows enough people in the town do not like him."  
  
"That's madness you're talking, Abby," Mercy said, her earlier condescending tone gone. "Every good Christian knows that the devil can't tempt a minister."  
  
Abby opened her mouth to say something, but a warm man's laugh stopped her. She turned toward the judge's table, face set in anger, but there was no- one there.  
  
"Who's there?" she demanded. "Show yourself! Show yourself!"  
  
"Alright, young missy. Don't get upset or anything." A man stepped out of the shadows at the back of the courtroom and started walking up the aisle between seats toward Abigail. He was young; perhaps twenty-five, thin, and dressed like a sharp young lad from London, all in black. He was extremely pale, a sign of good breeding, and had hair as dark as his clothes. He stepped forward and took Abigail's hand in his spidery digits.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, young miss," he said cordially, rising. Abigail fought down a blush. "May I have the pleasure of learning your name?" he asked, a rakish grin displaying a crescent of white teeth. All of them, too.  
  
"It isn't usual for a man to ask a lady her name without telling her his, first," Abigail said teasingly. The man gave her a cool glance for a minute before the grin re-emerged.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, as though surprised with himself. "Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste; my name is Frederick Mick. I'm quite well known in London."  
  
Abigail and some of the other girls tittered slightly at this revelation. "Oh, Mr. Mick, I'm terribly sorry. I haven't heard of you, though that isn't unusual considering our distance from London."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure you know me," he said seriously. "Perhaps not by name, however," he said after a pause, fixing her again with that female-winning grin.  
  
Abigail pulled playfully on one of the lapels of his coat. "What would a man of such esteem and breeding be doing here in Salem?"  
  
"Investment opportunities," he said, waving a hand. "Perhaps, young miss, I could speak to you and some of the older girls alone here about such . . . investments?" He watched Abigail nod. "Very well, then. I should like to speak to you, of course, and . . . those two young ladies," he said, pointing to Mercy Lewis and Mary Warren.  
  
The rest of the girls shuffled out of the courtroom, secretly glad that the meeting was over. That Mr. Mick had sent chills down most of their young spines.  
  
Betty Parris, however, had not moved. She was frozen, staring at the strange new man, face as white as burial cloths. The young girl who had been sitting next to her was shaking her shoulder and trying to get her to move. Unable to do so, the girl looked fearfully at the strange man.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. She does this sometimes. If you could just give me a minute . . ." she said, beginning to tug once again on Betty's arm. Mr. Mick raised an eyebrow and observed the little scene playing out before him for a moment.  
  
"Never mind, young lady," he said after some time. "She'll be doing no harm." He watched the young girl nod hurriedly and scurry out of the courtroom. Then, quite violently, he whirled to face the three older girls.  
  
"Abigail Williams, Mercy Lewis and Mary Warren," he said slowly. The girls turned white, suddenly the room was very cold and the temperature had metaphorically dropped a few degrees when he'd said their names. "You hide no secrets from me," he said, drawing closer. He grinned again, though this time it was predatory. Mary noticed, with horror, that his incisors were pointed, like a wolf's.  
  
"Who are you," Abigail asked defiantly.  
  
"Dost thou not know thy enemy?" he asked, feigning shock. "Why Abigail, I'm hurt."  
  
"I know you're not Mr. Mick or whoever you claim to be," Abigail snapped. Mary fought the urge to run and hide.  
  
The man chuckled. "Can't get anything past you," he said. And then his face turned pensive. "But perhaps I could if . . ." he reached out and snatched something from right behind Abigail's ear. The gleam of a gold coin twirling through those spidery white fingers caught the candlelight. He grinned again, less predatory this time, but the wolf was still there.  
  
"You're a witch!" Abigail gasped. Now she too looked genuinely afraid. All this time they had been accusing people of being witches, but never once had she or Mercy or Mary actually encountered a witch. Terror spread fast through the three girls.  
  
"No, that's just a cheap trick," the man said easily. "Slight of hand, and all that. I'm much more than just a petty witch, girls." He leaned in close to Abigail's face, so that the tips of their noses nearly touched. "You've testified to seeing me so many times, Abigail, how do you not recognize me in my tangible incarnation?"  
  
If it had been chilly in the courtroom before, immediately after that remark the temperature on the girls' skin seemed to feel like being trapped inside a glacier. But not one of them didn't feel the flames of Hell licking at her guts.  
  
"You're not supposed to be able to enter this place," Abigail said. Though terror had made her voice small, she was still trying to be defiant. Satan had to admire the girl.  
  
"I can go to any place that has been touched by one of the seven Big Ones, my dear," he said, sick amusement twisting through his voice. "Courtrooms, churches, misters' souls . . . you name it." He looked around, as though appreciating the architecture. "Murder was the one that did this particular place in."  
  
"There was no murder committed here," Mercy said stiffly. She wasn't that bright.  
  
The Devil waved a finger. "Not so fast, my friend. There's a loophole in the ineffable rules; murder was sentenced here, so technically it was committed here." He grinned. "Now girls, may I be the first to congratulate you on a bad job well done. I couldn't be more proud of you. However, a certain deity that just so happens to hold the power to end your miserable mortal lives whenever he wants to, has decided that you've caused enough damage and that it's time for your little go-round on the merry ride of life to be up." He gave a satisfied grin.  
  
"We're going to die?" Mercy Lewis asked, trembling.  
  
"That was rather the gist of what I just said, yes," the Devil said with a sigh. He pulled out a silver dagger. It had evil symbols inscribed on it.  
  
"Right now?" Mercy asked.  
  
"We're going to Hell!" Mary screamed, hysterical. "Someone help, we're going to Hell!"  
  
"Oh, calm down!" Satan snapped. He blessed under his breath and continued. "First of all, no-one can hear you anyway. Second of all, I'm not even sure you're going to Hell, Mary my dear." He leaned on the judge's table and stared picking dirt out from under his nails with the knife. "You girls have five minutes to try to escape, to claw vainly at the doors, to beg for mercy – no pun intended – to scream at the top of your lungs and to otherwise panic. All attempts will be futile, so if you'd rather end it quickly, step on up."  
  
Mercy immediately burst into hysterical tears and ran screaming around the courthouse. The Devil rolled his eyes and sigh exasperatedly. He turned his attention to Mary, however, who had stepped up and was staring at the ground, trembling.  
  
"I have to die?" she asked quietly.  
  
The Devil shrugged. "Can't do anything about it. Sorry."  
  
"And I might not go to Hell?" she asked, somewhat hopefully. She looked up quickly and found herself locked his pitiless depths of flaming devil-iris.  
  
"Between you and me, I don't think so," the Devil said softly. "You were the one with the doubts and all that. You asked for forgiveness. You didn't go right on along with Abigail and Mercy." He shrugged again. "I can't touch that stuff."  
  
"Oh," Mercy said, somewhat happier. "Well, I guess it's alright then." He gave what would pass for an encouraging grin if you didn't know he was Satan. "Make it quick?"  
  
"Always do," he said solemnly. "Good luck." And with that, the Devil stabbed Mary Warren in the heart. She died instantly. Blood ran out of her chest cavity and down the knife. The crimson liquid dripped off the hilt. Very solemnly indeed, supporting the dead girl with his right hand, he reached down with his left and let a drop of her blood fall on his finger. Her sniffed it first, then tasted it. His face turned pensive for a moment, before he coughed slightly. "Definitely saved, that one. Too sweet and sappy for anything with me."  
  
He carefully pulled the dagger out of Mary's chest and let her fall. The blade of the knife was amazingly clean again; not a dropped of blood marred its perfect silver blade. He admired the pretty thing for a minute before looking up. He was slightly surprised to see Abigail was standing right where she had been when he'd said they had five minutes to panic. He looked at her inquisitively.  
  
"Are you going to run or anything?" he asked slowly.  
  
"No," she replied faintly. She was staring right at him. Despite the fact that he was all-powerful and practically immortal – not to mention the Lord of Hell – it was starting to weird him out.  
  
The two of them stared at each other for a little while. Then, Mercy's hysterical screams really started to annoy Satan. He glanced in her direction, eyes narrowing. "Do you think she'd mind if I didn't give her the full five minutes?"  
  
"No," Abigail said, in the same faint voice. The Devil watched her face for another minute before standing up.  
  
"Well, then, I'll be back." He strode off toward the back of the courthouse and Mercy.  
  
*  
  
Mercy dropped immediately to her knees when the Devil got within fifteen feet of her. She kept screaming. Satan had tried to get used to the endless wailing of sinners but it never really happened. So normally he tried to avoid it and imbibe as much whiskey as possible. In fact, he'd considered sending Beelzebub along for this one, but decided it was too important to trust to the buzzing fly-brain (literally).  
  
"You said I had five minutes!" Mercy howled. "I'm not ready yet! You lied!"  
  
The Devil paused. "I do have a tendency to do that," he said peevishly. Her scream really was quite annoying. "Listen, when you get to Hell, go straight to Beelzebub. I've put him aside especially for you."  
  
"No! Please no!"  
  
He swooped down on her and stabbed her, face impassive. Blood spurted from the wound and she twitched a few times before finally becoming still. Satan sighed with relief and blessed loudly. "Didn't think she was ever going to stop." He stood up and brushed the blood off his coat. He was starting to turn around and head back to the front of the courtroom when 120 pounds of Puritan collided with him and pinned him to the wall.  
  
"You are positively the most sexy man I've ever seen in my life," Abigail said, her voice seductive with a hint of desperation. "You have seduced me."  
  
"Uh . . . good?" He watched her face for a minute. She was making strange facial expressions at him. "Are you trying to seduce me?" She nodded slowly, still trying to seduce the Devil. She was doing about as good a job as a broomstick. "Listen, my dear, you're just not my type."  
  
"But why then did you seduce me?" she asked, leaning in and grinning slightly.  
  
"Oh for the love of . . ." he said, exasperated. "Listen, kid, it's my job. I seduce people away from God, it's what I do."  
  
"I want to kiss you."  
  
He looked at her, slightly worried about her mental state. "Are you alright?"  
  
"You have tempted me too far! I shall never come back!" She was pushed away to arms' length by the Devil, trying to ravish him in a way only a sex- deprived Puritan can.  
  
"You're a very strange girl. Deliciously evil, yes, but very odd."  
  
"I want to be your eternal lover! I want to –" she stopped abruptly. Her eyes told the story. The Devil knew she was gone even before she coughed up the blood and keeled over at his feet. He sighed thankfully.  
  
"I don't envy you with that one," Betty said peevishly. Still looking annoyed, the little girl bent over and pulled the golden knife out of Abigail's back. It shone in the candlelight. "Honestly," she was saying, standing up and unnecessarily wiping the knife on her skirts, "I take all that time and create them and craft them and try to guide them right and then you get something like this." She glared down at the corpse of her creation. "Luckily I didn't make them like the apples; my angels would be out of work."  
  
The Devil looked up slowly. Where Betty had been standing, God was glowing there in all her blonde, curvy beauty. "How did I not spot you before?"  
  
"Concentration?" she said absently, sliding the knife back into its sheath.  
  
"Perhaps," he said absently. "You know, the Puritans think you're a man?"  
  
God scoffed. "I shudder to think." She looked around. "Yes, I think everything'll be alright here." She grinned. "Isn't it wonderful?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Evil takes a brief hold and is ultimately triumphed by good? That whole song and dance?"  
  
"Salt in the wound, my dear," Satan said smoothly. "I prefer not to talk about it."  
  
God gave a happy little shrug. "Your choice." She didn't have to clarify that she wasn't only talking about his decision not to talk about it. "I'll tell you something, I could most certainly go for some curry right about now."  
  
The Devil thought about it. "I'm not opposed." There was shouting from outside. He turned to the door and raised an eyebrow. "Town woke up."  
  
God giggled slightly. "Not yet."  
  
The Devil rolled his eyes. "Stop being so mystical and all-knowing. We are going to lunch." And so he strolled by her and took her arm. And they both had curry in India.  
  
END 


End file.
